


Just a Bit Further

by DaisyAnneWinchester



Series: Picture Prompts [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya needs a bandaid, BAMF Arya Stark, BAMF Jon Snow, Brother-Sister Relationships, Gen, Injured Arya Stark, Jon Snow is a Good Sibling, Jon Snow is a Stark, Picture inspired, Post - Game of Thrones (TV), Stabby Stabby, Tumblr Prompt, arya didnt leave, character injury, doesnt really relate, i just kinda ignore the end, im so here for these two, injured Jon Snow, it can take place whenever you want it to, no beta we die like Robb Stark, ouchies, some blood, wyld fyre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyAnneWinchester/pseuds/DaisyAnneWinchester
Summary: Arya is injured in a quest to take out the last of the rogue group of white walkers. Now she and Jon are lost in the forest in a thick fog with nowhere to go, being pursued by white walkers. Will both of them make it out alive? Jon will make sure of it if it's the last thing he does. And it might be.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Arya Stark
Series: Picture Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659043
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Just a Bit Further

“C’mon, Arya. Just a bit further. Please. I know it hurts. You’ll be alright.”

Arya grunts at Jon, bloodied hands holding the spear head in her stomach, trying to keep it from moving. A particular shift in her gait makes the blade shift and she wails, stopping for a moment to lean against a tree. He gives her a moment of rest, peering into the dense fog. He makes out a few shapes in the dark and quickly moves to grips her hand, looping her arm around his shoulders. He takes most of her weight as he limps on, away from danger and deeper into the unknown. They stagger through the thick fog, heavy feet one over the other. With every step, Jon sends prayers to the old gods, pleas for sanctuary in this vast wilderness the white walkers have corralled them into. Through the thick veil of white he sees nothing, the gods granting them no mercy. He does not let that deter him. This is Arya. Brave and loyal, forever someone that he can depend on. Family. He’s not letting her die.

“Just a bit further.” It’s a lie. They both know it.

Staggering over branches, moss, rocks and through the occasional trickle of water he guesses can be called a stream, he tries to ignore his own leg, still bleeding sluggishly with every step they take. He knows he won’t be able to go for much longer. And yet, death is a good motivator. Determination propels him further. He’s sweating with exertion, his sweat freezing in the cold air. A look over at his sister confirms that she is no better, possibly worse. There’s more blood on her hand than before, slipping through the slick blood coating her stomach like she’s got it in her mind she can shove it back inside where it belongs if she tries hard enough. The point of the spear protrudes from her stomach through her leather armor. The blade itself is wicked looking, barbed at the end to keep her from pulling it out. If he would look at her back she would see the hilt of the spear fit snuggly between the folds of her armor, truly a lucky hit to wedge itself so nastily between the metal plate of her chest guard and the leather of her stomach padding. Her lips are tinged slightly blue, blood coloring the corners of her mouth. Her eyes keeps sliding closed. She sways and stumbles over her feet, her arm slips from his shoulders as she tips forward. He scrambles to get a hold of her, hauling her back up to support her. Fear is a cold vice around his heart, colder than the breeze that dries the sweat over his face.

He jostles her unkindly, needing for her to stay awake and alert. She growls, trying to push away, confused and disoriented from loss of blood. He drags her back to him and her eyes fly open, wild and panicked before they land on him, softening in recognition before trailing to the landscape around them. Her hand, bloody, raises to point off to their left apparently seeing something that he cannot through the unmerciful fog. He strains, trying to see what she does. Alas, he does not. A shriek from the fog behind them makes her jump and him throw each of them to the left in the direction Arya seems to want to go.

Two minutes and mud and leaves turn into stones each large slab laid into the dirt to form a path. Jon drags them up each one, his leg howling at him to stop. He doesn’t, pushes them harder as the wide broken stones turn to stairs. He looks up and his heart soars. He takes in the vine covered cobblestone, barred door and skinny windows and knows the house will be perfect protection. He also happens to know it will be deserted, Lord Goodwyn moved to Dorne a month ago.

“I know where we are” he pants to Arya, relieved. She hums at him quietly. “This is Lord Goodwyn’s old place. He’s not going to be happy with us once were done.”

Arya snorts a short laugh before she grimaces. Jon takes it as a good sign, she’s still coherent enough to think he’s funny. He holds her round the waist with one hand the other around her wrist on his shoulder. He carries them up to the door and fumbles with the latch, sighing in relief when the door swings open. He deposits Arya at the kitchen table where she slumps on the stool and doesn’t look like she’s getting up any time soon. He bars the door and hobbles through the grand old house, making sure all windows are shut and latched along with every door.

Collapsing at the table next to Arya, he groans in pain and exhaustion. Arya pats his shoulder weakly and offers him a small smile. “Shitty plan” she offers to him, and he scowls.

“It was a great plan until you got stabbed.”

She hums and nods once, “Fair enough.” She takes a glance around the empty kitchen and then down at the spear head sticking out of her stomach. She prods at the tip of the spear head. “Lucky shot,” she mumbles to no one in particular. She pulls the flagon from her hip and takes a sip before offering it to her brother, “How’s your leg? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Jon grunts at her and snatches the bottle out of her fingers. He stretches his leg out in front of him to inspect it for the first time, taking a swig. He’s surprised to find it’s not water, but mulled wine and he takes another sip before passing it back to her. He inspects the gash through the fabric of his pants. It’s not deep, the bundle of clothing providing protection, but it is long, running vertical from his knee to halfway up his thigh, and continues to bleed as he moves. He shrugs and stands up, favoring his uninjured leg for a moment before sending a grim smile Arya’s way. “See? It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Arya barks a laugh that looks like it hurts before she fixes him with an unimpressed eyebrow. “It needs stitches, doesn’t it?” Jon huffs her off and rummages through the cabinets until he resurfaces with a ball of string and some dish towels. He limps to the furnace where he saw the pruning shears and tosses them on the table in front of Arya. She sighs when she sees them, “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right. We need to get that out of you.”

“Do we?”

“Sorry sis.”

“You don’t sound sorry,” She scowls and shrugs off her satchel, letting it thump on the table.

“Hey careful!”

She looks at the bag for a moment before she remembers, “Oh.”

“Yea, _oh._ You’re gonna blow us all to hell.”

Arya just grunts, gestures to him to grab the pruning shears, and rips her shirt open more to make way for the shears. She braces herself on the table and situates the shears around the barb.

Arya braces herself.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

Jon snaps the barb off and Arya groans as it jostles the blade in her side.

Jon hands her the towel, ripped in two. He walks behind her and settles a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait. Waitwaitwait.”

She reaches for the wineskin and takes a big swig before nodding at Jon.

“On three.”

“One.”

Jon pulls the blade out and Arya yells loudly. Her scream echoes through the empty house, resonating through the barren rooms. She jams her half of the towel to the puncture wound as Jon presses the other half to the back, throwing the blade on the table.

“ARSE!”

He makes a sound of agreement and wraps the string around her stomach, securing the makeshift bandages to her wounds.

“Your turn.” She pants.

As soon a Jon is bandaged, they collapse back in their chairs, slumped in exhaustion. The finish the mulled wine between the two of them in comfortable silence and Arya offers the last bit to Jon. She looks past his shoulder out the window.

“ _Fuck_.”

Jon turns to peer out the barred window and lowers the flagon in dismay, “ _Fuck”_ he agrees, watching the white walkers emerge through the lifting fog. Arya scrambles for the satchel, pulling out the clay jar of wild fyre. Jon grabs the rest of the string and shoves it in the flagon, soaking it in the mulled wine.

“The hell are you doing?”

“If I remember correctly, Lord Goodwyn had a tunnel dug out of the house, the paranoid bastard. We can lure them here and blow them all to kingdom come.”

“Brilliant.”

Jon goes off to find the entrances to the tunnel and ends up victorious in the basement, a small latch at the back revealing a dank, dark tunnel disappearing into the darkness. Unfortunately, its down a flight of stairs and a few steps away, quite a distance from where they’re going to need to set up the wild fyre. He heads back up the stairs to see Arya situating the jar by the door, trailing the wine-soaked string from the jar to the door leading to the basement. They both stand in the doorway to the basement and share a look with each other as they hear the walkers for the first time shuffling past the door. Adrenaline pushes away the pain as their hearts pound in unison. Jon gently lifts the bar from the door and peers out the window, counting about thirty walkers total emerging from the fog. He looks back at Arya and she nods, flint ready at the end of the string. Jon lets out a loud yell, watching through the barred window as each rotten face swivels toward the house and they break out into a run, barreling over the ground on bony limbs, swinging wildly and stumbling into each other. Jon backs up to where Arya is waiting.

“Not yet.”

Jon waits for the white walkers to barrel closer and ram on the door before he backs down the stairs. Arya goes to strike the flint and he holds out a hand, stalling her for a few more seconds. She waits with bated breath and strikes the flint as a white walker kicks down the door and runs inside. She hears shattering windows and the splintering of wood as other whites create into the house, swarming through the rooms and down the stairs. From where Jon is standing, he can see a white walker crawling out of the chimney into the room, trailing an arm behind it. The white thrills when it sees them and darts forward, sent back momentarily as the string catches fire and creeps towards the jar of wild fyre sitting innocently on the floor waiting to ignite. Jon and Arya turn their backs on it and the white walker and barrel down the stairs and through the door into the tunnel, followed closely by the white. They scramble though the tunnel, the now multiple whites hot on their heels.

“We’ve got ten seconds at the most.” Jon pants to Arya. She nods to him, her face looking oddly green until she looks behind her and turns white as she sees the white walkers so close. She picks up her pace and throws herself against the exit to the tunnel, stumbling out into the sun with Jon hot on her heels. A white follows them out but Jon draws his sword and sends it skittering back into the tunnel. A green light glow at the end of the tunnel, rushing towards them with fiery speed sending heat into their faces. They shut the door on it and throw themselves away and to the ground as the door blows of its hinges and wild fyre erupts from the hole in the ground. It recedes as a way away, through the trees, they see wild fyre erupts from the treetops into the sky. They can feel the heat from where they lay and they both slump to the ground exhausted and adrenaline fading. Arya laughs weakly in relief and so does Jon. He looks around and sees a road he recognizes. He makes no effort to get up, though, just lays back and stares at the sun as it peeks through the fog.

“Let’s go home.” He pants to the sky.

“Yeah.”

“Just… in-,” Jon pauses to catch his breath, “in a bit.”

“Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again Lovelies! I'm back! I saw a tumblr post of aesthetically pleasing pictures so now i must write a fic for each one or my one brain cell will throw a temper tantrum. So enjoy! Come say hi on Tumblr! It's the same tag.


End file.
